


Silicon

by OwlEspresso



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Fingerfucking, Molly is an incubi, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 16:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlEspresso/pseuds/OwlEspresso
Summary: It’s bizarre—unreasonable—heat presses up your body with unbidden suddenness and your skin gets hotter where he grips it.





	Silicon

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this make sure to LIKE, COMMENT and SUBSCRIBE to my writing blog,[HERE](https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/).

Your plans for Saturday had been sitting on your couch, absentmindedly scrolling through your laptop. It would have been great, fantastic to settle your weary back against the soft couch cushions, maybe shut your eyes and take a nap because you had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.

Needless to say, that simple plan did not come to fruition. It was your fault, honestly.

Janet, a work acquaintance with an aggravatingly big heart and the puppy dog eyes of a practiced actor, had bumbled up to your door with tears running down her cheeks. Somehow, she charmed her way into your apartment and sat on your couch, telling you that the volunteer project she’d been apart of was falling apart. Her best friend cancelled last minute, the building materials weren’t being shipped fast enough, and soon, her idea to build houses for miners near the silicon-filled caves of the outskirts would be ruined!

In her desperate time of need, who else could she turn to but you? You, who always got your work done on time? You, who worked late hours and was the star of the company? Her praises were lavish and had you been in your right mind, you would have denied her, shoved her out of your apartment and onto the cold streets where do-gooders like her belonged.

But you didn’t. For a moment, something warm and idealistic seized you, and you thought “What if I could make a difference?”.

You rationalized it in your head in a split second and soon, she was giving you a tearful hug, going on and on about how great it was to have you on the project. Then, the door shut behind her and you felt like the silent, still remnants of a town that’d just been rolled over by a hurricane.

In all honesty, you could have cancelled, but Janet had friends in the decrepit hierarchy of your workplace, so you didn’t. Doing this small favor for her would be worth it if she put in a good word for you with the higher-ups.

The toe of your sneaker hits the edge of the mirror—it this close to the door—and sends you falling. Adrenaline jolts through your system and you brace for the shattering of glass, the ripping of your skin, the howling of an ambulance, stitches, the pain of recovery—but it never comes.

You open your eyes and there’s only blackness. There’s solid floor underneath you, sure. But everything else is black. The void is chilled and no sound travels through it, not even your footsteps as you begin to move forward. As much as you should be, you aren’t panicked. Your brain scrambles to rationalize the situation and does a pretty damn good job of it.

You passed out, and this is a weird dream. Eventually, you’ll wake up in a hospital bed, the glass shards picked out of your skin and organs or wherever they wound up. You really weren’t looking forward to it, but there was nothing you could do to change the situation. The darkness that swelled around you, unmoving, static, boring. The only change is that the mild chill has actually vanished, which only makes it more dull.

Maybe you should sit down and wait? Maybe lay down and try to wake yourself up? If this is a lucid dream, then you should be able to—

Something stirs in the distance, and your heart jumps into your throat. It’s the shift of something large against solid, hard ground, a subtle but voluminous noise of giant footsteps coming closer. On instinct, you shuffle back, back, back, suddenly forgetting that this is very probably a dream as your carnal, base emotions overcome your coherency.

A pair of vibrant, solid red eyes peer out at you from the dark. Each one is the size of a dinner plate. They pierce through the veil of blackness that encompasses the area, their soft glow freezing you in place. Somehow, the form behind them is completely invisible. The light they emit is only going forward, looking right at you. Your breath seizes in your lungs, heart thump, thump, thumping in your chest.

“Tripping and falling is one thing. Tripping and falling into a completely different dimension is another thing entirely.” It’s a smooth, masculine voice that rings all around you, encompasses your entire body. There’s an amused lilt to it, and if you weren’t scared out of your mind, you’d probably admire the rich sound.

The bottoms of the eyes curl upwards. You can only hope that means it’s smiling.

Despite its lack of pupils, you somehow know it’s looking right at you. Uncomfortable heat swells over your skin and pulses inside of you, making your fingers twitch.

“This is just a dream,” You take in a deep breath, trying to calm the manic pounding of your heart.

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s not. We’re real and we’re one-hundred percent right here,” It continues and its voice dips into a sneer. The fear in you is starting to settle, given how it doesn’t seem like it’s going to attack you.

“Whatever you say.” You huff, your agitation twitching, leagues above the dull fear that’d previously seized you.

The temperature of the room begins to dip, and a humid quality slowly infiltrates the air. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t mention it. Dreams are weird. The subconscious is completely possible to understand and you’re not going to try it anytime soon.

“Hey, so, what are you?” Might as well amuse yourself while you wait to wake up. You cross your arms and your posture stiffens, attempting to look assertive. You sincerely doubt that whatever is on the other side of the room respects you or is capable of being scared of you, but it’s worth a try.

“What am I?” It echoes, “Well, that’d take a lot of explaining, and believe me, it’d be boring to listen to and talk about, so—”

Suddenly, the darkness begins to ebb away to the far corners and reaches of the room like a cloud being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. You squint against the sudden change in light—fortunately, it’s still dim, but what you do see elegant, polished wooden floors that stretch far in front of you. Shelves that reach near to the ceiling stand on either side of you, stacked with pretty, leather-bound books. They’re not just next to you, but across the room, on all sides, arranged in a square around an open area—an open area which houses a large, circular bed.

Its covered in lavish, iridescent blankets and the matching pillows look soft beyond your wildest dreams. The entire room, instead of being clouded by darkness, seems to be filled with light fog. It leaves you astonished and hot and somehow hazy, creeping arousal rolling up your spine.

It’s a hot, flushed feeling that bewilders and frightens you all at once, but dreams are known for being spontaneous, right? It can all be explained.

You take a step forward, cautiously surveying the area. There’s no evidence of the creature that’d spoken to you only moments ago. Maybe the subject of the dream shifted? That’s happened to you before?

The sound of footsteps behind one of the shelves forces your adrenaline to surge. Your wide, frantic eyes look in the direction of the noise, and you’re unprepared for the figure that emerges from behind one of the shelves.

Purple is the first thing you register. Deep, purple skin. It’s a tiefling.

Two sets of horns curl out from dark, curly waves of hair. The dim, red lighting from lanterns hung from the ceiling give the locks a vibrant sheen. His eyes are deep and red but what really attracts your focus next is the smattering of tattoos along his arm, bare shoulder and torso, that winds up his cheek. The colors are deep and vivid and you’re both surprised and impressed at your own imagination.

“Sorry for the scare,” He apologies. His grin widens the closer he gets, revealing two sharp fangs that stretch from the top lip. “But to be fair, there was no good way of introducing myself in that situation.”

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow and fix him with an unimpressed expression, absolutely not convinced.

He stops to stand in front of you. Now that he’s completely up close, you can make out the finer details of his tattoo. There’s a snake on his hand, designed so its mouth opens and closes when he moves his thumb and index fingers. There are scars all over his body, faint but still there. Two, small nipple rings catch the overhead light and gleam, held on (admittedly impressive) pectorals.

“Alright, I’m lying. But the look on your face was well worth it,” He tips his head and his smile becomes crooked, smug. “That’s all in the past, though,” He dismissively waves his hand. “My name’s Mollymauk. Molly to my friends.”

“Okay, Mollymauk.” Maybe it’s bitchy of you to emphasize that you’re not friends straight off the bat, but that’s what he gets for scaring the shit out of you! You cross your arms and cock your hip out. making sure that every inch of you oozes challenge.

“Well, I think you should at least tell me your name, seeing how I was polite enough to give you mine.” He mimics your posture, resting a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow at you. The ridiculousness of the situation almost makes you give up, but the stubborn part of you stays firm, refuses to buckle no matter how minor the act of giving him your name is.

“I don’t see why that matters. I’ll probably wake up in a minute.” You’re actually not looking forward to that.

“You really have a bad memory, don’tcha?” The corners of his lips press into a flat line and you feel mild satisfaction at managing to wipe the grin off his face. “This isn’t a dream.”

“That sounds a lot like something a dream would say.” You retort and tilt your chin up, haughty and arrogant.

“Bless your little heart,” He takes a wide step forward, into your personal bubble and you freeze. He looms over you, suddenly so close that you can make out every single eyelash, every stroke of the tattoo that crawls up on his right cheek. He’s admittedly handsome, but the sudden pulse of arousal that strikes your lower stomach makes you shift uncomfortably. “You’re real stubborn, but I can prove that this isn’t a dream.”

One of his hands reaches forward and presses onto your hip. You can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. The atmosphere between the two of you has been turned on its head, leaving you flailing and unsure how to react. Your voice stalls in your throat, tongue fumbling as you try to materialize some witty retort, something smart to say that’ll smack that stupid smile off his face.

But his face moves closer, and his hooded, red eyes draw you in, keep you quiet.

It’s bizarre—unreasonable—heat presses up your body with unbidden suddenness and your skin gets hotter where he grips it.

“Uh-huh.” You say, trying to find as forceful as possible to make up for the pure lack of wit. Something about him muddles your thoughts and god, he’s so close, but you don’t want him to move away. As miffed as you are, you’re also curious about this imaginary figure that your mind has conjured up. “I don’t think you can.”

Contrary to what you were expecting, his gaze softens and his eyelids dip low. His other hand reaches up and cups your cheek, so direct that you almost don’t notice the press of his hips against yours as he shuffles closer. Something hard rubs against your crotch and oh.

You’ve had lewd dreams before, but never one as intricate as this. It has a whole plot line and everything.

Just a dream, though. So anything that happens here should be fine.

A little voice in the back of your head asks, “what if it’s not?” but it is. It is because you don’t have the energy to believe it’s real.

“I can fix that.” He coos, and the honey of his voice makes another wave of heat ripple through your body. The mist seems to thicken and coagulate tight to your skin. Your clothes start to stick and the need to get out of them is sudden, but overwhelming. “Do you want that?” His voice, a slow and rich drawl, beckons and calls. Your pride swells, tells you to hold your ground, but his sculpted body is pressing against you entirely and his clothed cock rests wantonly against your cunt and god, it’s so hot. Why is it so goddamn hot?

You nod before you can think and he leans in, presses your lips together with no preamble. The kiss is soft and you tilt your head into it. The hand on your hip reaches for the buttons of your shirt and undoes them with deft, practiced fingers. The more clothing that comes off, the cooler you feel. His tongue brushes against your lips an you open them, letting him slide into your mouth. Your hand reaches for his broad shoulders. Warmth pulses under his heated skin.

Desperation takes hold as he pulls away, grabbing your sleeves to yank your shirt off. In the split second he’s not pressed against you, you notice the vibrant glow of his eyes and his grin, wild, carnal, ravenous—

And then he’s on you again, hips shoving tight against yours, forcing you backwards. You stumble and struggle to stay on your feet until your knees hit the back of the mattress.

The library rushes around you as you topple onto the bed. The silky sheets are cool against your back and your gaze draws up to the lanterns that hang from the ceiling. Mollymauk’s hands slam on the mattress on either side of your head, effectively caging you in and monopolizing your attention, holding it captive.

You focus on the splash of vibrant green against his lavender skin until he gives you a chaste kiss, before trailing a path of them along your jawline, dipping down to your neck. You give a soft keen, tilting your head to the side. Goosebumps spread over your heated skin at the low noise of approval he makes, pleased at having more skin to cover in attention. His tongue scorches over you and wow, it’s forked.

The realization jolts you, leaving you momentarily distracted and able to be surprised when he nips at the crook of your neck. You squeak and he apparently he likes the sound, because he repeats the motion and soon the amorous affection becomes rougher, more impassioned.

The cool sheets are a striking juxtaposition against the sear of his body, and your hands eventually find his shoulders, caught up in the picturesque stretch of colors that make up his being.

“Lovely.” He praises, voice a balmy whisper. He raises a hand and light catches off his ring finger and pinkie, nails both akin to sharp talons while his pointer and middle are perfectly manicured.

There’s the tearing or fabric. The middle of your bra snaps, jolting you from your stuptor. The garment is haphazardly tugged off your body before you get the chance to scold him, and you suddenly realize how exposed you really are.

His hands run down your sides to perch on your hips, slow and tender, like he’s really taking time to savor you. The right comes back to cup your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple, teasing the nub to full hardness. His eyelids droop as his face looms over your other breast, lavishing the soft skin with kisses. They’re the short, teasing kind that make your insides feel all hot and hooey, the kind that make you arch your back for more, more, more, the slightly wet kind that chill your skin and make you squirm.

“Mollymauk, stop teasing!” The ache between your thighs swells and you rub them together.

“It’s cute that you think you’re in charge here.” He punctuates his statement with a harsh squeeze to your breast, earning a gasp. His palm brushes tight against your nipple. “You should at least say ‘please’ when you ask for something.

His dexterous tongue curls around your untouched nipple and makes you wiggle against the covers, swathes of sticky warmth making your cunt wet, before he finally slides down the bed. His lithe body wiggles to rest in between your knees, and the visual makes your cheeks hotter. He grabs your thighs and tugs you down the bed with surprising ease. The suddenness of the motion jolts your inebriated system, but the unexpected strength behind it sends another pulse of warmth to your core.

“Mollymauk,” You breathe as his thumbs hook under the waistband of your shorts and panties, bringing them down in a single, swift movement. For as inconsiderate as he was with your bra, he has the decency to set your bottoms aside. You instinctively close your legs but he snaps his grip to them, pulling them apart, pushing passed the soft cotton of your sheepishness like a wolf’s teeth through the hide of a lamb.

The gentle press of his inner thigh makes the muscle twitch. You can’t see his pupils but can somehow feel the heat of his gaze. It pins you in place, keeps you pliant as he trails kisses towards your cunt. Arousal thuds in your body and sloshes in your veins, makes your fingers curl into the sheets.

His teeth catch on your skin and you jolt with a gasp. A velvety chuckle rumbles against your thigh as he continues to trail up, up, up. Trepidation trembles deep in your chest and promptly vanishes at the drag of his tongue over your slicked folds. A squeal flies from your lips and he responds with an eager moan.

Your hips instinctively roll off the bed, into his mouth, desperate for more.

“Stay still, alright?” His arms wind around your thighs and squeeze as if to remind you who’s in charge. “I can’t work my magic if you’re wiggling all over the place.” His lips pill away from your cunt and you whine at the chill that settles in his absence. Impatient, wet kisses spider up your other thigh and his tongue again rasps a single stripe up your slit. Your hips roll again and the muscles in his arms flex briefly as he holds you in place, not lifting his face away for even a moment.

Delight sears up your spine as one of his fingers dips against your entrance. God, please, please—your need boils deep and smothers you. The slender digit teases you for what feels like years, time stretching until he slides one finger inside. It’s impossible to stop your thighs from trying to clamp back together, but he holds you open still.

Knowing he can keep you pinned to the bed as long as he likes terrifies and exhilarated you at the same time.

The broad of his tongue swipes at your bundle of nerves, the forked tips delving deep and making you squirm with each steady thrust of his finger. One of your hands flies down to grip hid horn and he snarls, the vibration making you shake.

Another finger slips in alongside the first. You jolt—it’s covered in something slippery and wet, but the realization melts like flimsy sea foam as he moans again.

The stretch of your walls doesn’t feel like much of a stretch, but the slow pace is agonizing. You suppose you should have expected this, especially after the haughty way he’d presented himself. Such a lascivious creature probably couldn’t resist the temptation to tease and torture you. You want to tell him to go faster, harder, but you’re inevitably enraptured by the flutter of his eyelashes and the sheen of his sweaty bangs pressed against his forehead. His expression is set into something fascinated and so thoroughly concentrated that it makes you feel like a specimen under a microscope, like an insect under the heel of a god,

He keeps the fingering slow as you start to whine, thighs tensing, legs trying to wrap around his head. The sweet mist swells around you and sticks to your skin, another sensation to add to the pile.

“Mollymauk!” You hug his horn again, try to wrench him away, but he stayed affixed to you, fingers tilting at a new angle that makes your shoulders slam back against the mattress, pleasure dancing up your spine and jumbling the words off your tongue.

And then you cum against his face, voice pitching into something pathetic and akin to a sob, a loud noise that sounds alien to even yourself. He groans in unison, tongue continuing to lave over your cunt until your thighs go limp. Finally, he lets them collapse onto the mattress. Your body feels like fucking jello.

Your sweat-slicked chest heaves up and down. Your unfocused gaze jostles down to him as he gets back to his feet, lean abdomen sleek with sweat or moisture from the air. The smirk he levels you with brings you back to your initial meeting.

“Good?” The bed creaks under his weight, knee dipping onto the covers. He drops onto his side next to you, elbow pressing against one of the many puffed pillows, cheek idly resting against his hand. His other hand reaches over and combs through your hair and fuck it, this feels so fucking nice. Your eyes shut and your head lolls against the pillow.

“Mhm.” You’re too tired to pretend it wasn’t absolutely phenomenal, not when you feel so nice and sated. It’;s been ages since you’ve had such a great dream, but your consciousness begins to yawn and lull.

“Go to sleep.” His voice purrs in your ear. “We can play again, later.” Sure we can, you think sarcastically. As though your brain will ever let you have something this nice ever again. It’s going to suck to wake up. The memory of your plummet into the mirror almost makes you stir, but the afterglow sedates your mind and body, sending you into inky, black unconsciousness.

—

You don’t know how long you sleep, but when you wake up, you first notice the gross taste of sleep in your mouth and a plush bed against your back. Your eyes open and a vaguely familiar ceiling greets you, the lighting dim and purple—but wait—

You shoot into an upright position, urgently blinking the sleep from your eyes. Alarm shoots through you as you behold the same library from your dream.

No, no, no! Numb horror assaults you as you roll out of the warm bed. The ground is cool against the bottoms of your feet.

This is still a dream. It has to be—shit, shit, shit, it’s not. It’s really not, huh? But where are you? Were you kidnapped by that purple bastard?

Your frantic gaze snaps at the sound of heels clicking against the polished wood and air constricts in your lungs as he rounds the corner. He blinks briefly, looking surprised at the sight of you, before he gives you a grin, warmer than it is smug.

“I told you it wasn’t a dream.”


End file.
